


Starting Over

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Prompt: May I request a prompt? Mulder being confused at why Scully is actively avoiding sex after having been cleared to, post s11 baby, and it's because Scully just doesn't feel sexyA/N: Just putting a trigger warning for PND here.





	Starting Over

She stares at the paper. The kettle is boiling. Rumbling water, hissing. She glances over, sees the shape of the steam on the window, ragged at the edges and slowly disappearing into itself. Fading away so it never was. She rubs the underneath of her nose, catching the dribble. Outside, it’s snowing. Noble flakes gathering, so, so quiet. It’s always so still when it snows - like nature’s comfort blanket. She stares until the buzzing in her mind softens until it resembles the white outdoors.

“Scully?”

She tilts her head towards the sound.

“Scully?”

It’s Mulder. She drags her gaze from the window and smiles at him. He’s holding the baby.

“She was crying,” he says, walking to the kettle and pouring it into the jug where the bottle is standing. “I still don’t understand why you don’t just nuke these things.”

There’s a clip in his tone that brings her to the present. She pushes herself up, steadies herself against the table. One of the Kardashians is smiling out from the pages of the magazine, a glamorous photo shoot of the happy mom and new baby. She tucks the paper inside and closes the pages.

“It’s just that…” She doesn’t even remember why she’s against microwaving the baby’s bottle. She just knows it’s the right thing to do, heating it through this way, checking the temperature on her wrist, hugging the baby while they wait. It’s become a ritual. “She prefers it that way.”

“Do you?” Mulder says, nuzzling Esther’s downy head. “Your mom thinks it’s unsafe to use modern technology to heat your food yet she lets me stuff my face with salted caramel popcorn and the last three hot meals I’ve eaten have been Lean Cuisine lasagnes. Why is it okay for me to turn neon green with radiation, but it’s not okay for you, bubby?” He kisses his finger and presses it on the baby’s nose and she chuffs out a mewl somewhere between a chuckle and a cry. He tests the water and takes a seat at the table, feeding Esther. Scully hears the greedy suckling and there’s a hot pain inside her. How long had she left her crying in the crib?

“How was your day, Mulder?” she asks, trying to remember where it was he had gone.

“Nowhere near as demanding as yours,” he says to Esther, whose tiny hands clasp at the bottle but it’s too wide for her and she balls her fists in frustration. “She’s starving, Scully. Look at that, the bottle’s drained. Should I give her some more?”

Scully’s nipples tingle as Esther starts to whimper in his arms. “The book says that we have to be careful not to overfeed her. Especially not when we’re weaning her off the breast.”

“But what do you think, Scully?” His voice sinks to the pitch that he used back in the day, when he’d solicit her opinion on a case. Funny how she can still see him, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, long legs crossed, foot bouncing, hands steepled at his chin, eyes daring her to call out his bullshit theory. She’s held on to those details but she can’t remember when she put Esther down and when feeding time was scheduled.

“I think we need to follow the instructions,” she says, pouring herself a glass of water.

“She’s a baby, not an electronic device, Scully.” He’s not quite laughing at her, but it’s close. She tenses, trying to retrace what she’s done. Outside, she sees the snow is falling more heavily, whirling around on a rising wind. “You said instructions, Scully,” Mulder says, standing behind her. “I think you meant guidelines. And as you would know, guidelines are always open to interpretation.”

He laughs so suddenly that she drops the glass and shards scatter like the flakes outside, spreading the cold liquid across the floor. Esther screams. 

She doesn’t remember him coming to bed but sometime in the early hours he’s getting up again. She rolls over when he slides back in, draping an arm around his waist. He pulls her hand down resting on over his navel. The hair there is smooth and she plays with it, soon finding her fingers sliding under the waistband of his pyjama pants.

“Where were you, Mulder?”

He chuckles and she removes her hand. “I was with Esther, Scully. The 4am feed.”

Slipping back from him, her breasts harden. Shock and guilt prickle across her skin and she bites down the bitter sting of nausea. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I didn’t hear her cry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind. You’re exhausted, Scully. I understand.”

Sitting up, she feels the chill around her shoulders and she reaches for robe. “I should have heard her.”

He rolls onto his side, resting a hand on her lap. His fingers thrum on her thighs in time with the hot bubbles of guilt that pulse through her. He sits up and pulls her into an embrace. It’s natural to soften into him after all their years together. Even when they were apart, she never missed a chance to embrace him. Something about his quiet strength, never judging, just offering warmth and loyalty. Being wrapped in him flushes out the residual feelings of contrition at not getting up for the feed. His soft kiss to the crown of her head sends a tingle through her. She has missed it, their unabashed physicality. The way their bodies speak for them, free the fear, the pain, the guilt. She longs for the absolution that his love brings her.

He moves closer, letting his mouth drift over her forehead and down her nose. She lets him pepper kisses over her cheeks, her chin until he comes to her mouth. He pulls back a little, looks down at her as she looks up at him. There is a smile, brief hesitant, like he is asking her permission to go further. She blinks. She can’t deny him. He has waited patiently. Waited for her to get past the shock of the pregnancy, the indignity of a birth at her age, the flood of emotion that engulfed her after Esther came home, her sudden loss of ability to remember the simplest things about looking after a baby. It made her time with William seem so removed from her conscience that sometimes she wonders if she is the same person. For the brief time she was his mother, she at least was useful and present. This time round she has felt nothing but shame and embarrassment. She can see the looks the others at the clinic gave her, questioning whether she is the mother or the grandmother. And what she hates most is the fact that she lets it bother her.

“Scully,” he whispers, running a finger over her mouth. Against her, he is hard, hopeful. Shifting closer to share his desire, to see if she can somehow absorb it, she closes her eyes, desperate to feel like that woman again, to open herself up and let someone in, just to feel. He kisses her with quiet reverence, holding her face in his strong hands. Her lips part to let his tongue warm her mouth. His leg slips between hers so that his thigh presses against her centre. She waits for the tingle, holds her breath for it. He increases his rocking and he moans into her mouth but she fels herself leaving her body. Her mind has already switched off.

Mulder’s hand strays to her breast and she startles back. His leg drops from the nest of her thighs. “Scully?”

“M’sorry, Mulder. It’s…”

“Did I hurt you? Are they still tender? I won’t touch,” he buries his face into her neck and traces a figure of eight across her abdomen. Her pyjamas feel like bindings around her, despite the way his touch threatens to lift and loosen. In the dark, she imagines her twined around him, tight. In the dark, with just the sound of her ragged breathing, it almost feels like she can carry on, can love him. His fingers slip under the waistband and edge around her panties. His gentle voice coaxes her, comforts her. She wills her body to relax, to enjoy, but how can she melt into his arms and forget everything when the baby will still cry, her body will still be unrecognisable, her life will still be turned upside down?

His fingers massage and circled and her brain sparks and smokes, shutting her body down. By the time he’s slipped a finger inside and let his thumb press her clit she is numb. Going through the motions, letting him enjoy her body is all she can do.

He removes his fingers but she barely notices until he props himself up and pulls the sheet over her. “What’s wrong, Scully? Talk to me, please. I thought you were ready but…”

Her first response is to turn away, then her body betrays her and the tears burn in her eyes. As he moves his arm across her, she feels the tight tingle in her nipples and then the release. Within a second, her pyjama top is soaked and Mulder sits up, fumbling with the light.

“Shit,” he hisses, wadding tissues in his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, cuffing tears away. Leaning forward, she tucks the tissues under the top, letting the milk stream. Her body is leaking out and with it her dignity. From the other room, the baby began to cry. “Fuck.”

Esther fits perfectly against his chest, downy head resting against his shoulder, fingers running across her wet lips. She suckles her own fist so loudly that Scully can hear her from the doorway. Her tiny feet stomp against his abdomen. The microwave timer sounds and she sighs.

“Sorry, Scully, but it won’t do any harm. You should know that science has proven…”

“I should know, yes, Mulder. Dr Scully should know everything.” Wrapping her robe around her, she takes the baby from him. Immediately, she kicks and throws her head back, squealing. Scully pads to the kitchen and pulls out a chair, scraping it across the floor. Esther yells.

“Shh,” she said, “milk’s coming.” The bottle feels hot and the drop on her wrist stings. She curses and runs it under the cold tap, all the while hearing Esther’s protests loudly in her ears.

Mulder grabs the bottle and tests it. “It’s fine now, here, let me take her.”

“I’m fine, Mulder.” The baby eagerly grasped the sides of the bottle and settled.

It is the sound of the kettle hissing that brings her around. In the watery light, she sees the snow piled up on the windowsill behind the frosted pane. Esther has fallen asleep, a slight crease forming between her eyes. Mulder puts a mug of chamomile tea in front of her and sits on the next chair.

“She looks like you, so much like you, Scully.”

“The little frown?” She brings the baby up and kisses her softly at the spot.

“The stubborn chin,” he says, chuffing softly. “And the red hair, of course.” He leant over and stroked Esther’s face. “She’s beautiful. Like you.”

“Mulder, I’m…”

“Sorry? I know, Scully, and you don’t have to be. But if you were going to say fine, then I know you’re not.” He slips a piece of paper towards her. The one she’s slipped into the magazine. “These questions, your answers. This is a test for the precursor to post-natal depression. And you slot very firmly into the at risk group. Why didn’t you tell me?” He rubs his chin, scraping the whiskers so they make a dull noise.

Esther stirs in her arms and she shifts position, to hold her up against her shoulder. “Tell you what? That I’m a mess? That my body doesn’t feel like mine? That I am exhausted but I only sleep when the baby needs me? That I’ve let you down?” She chokes. Tears burn tracks down her face. Her nose dribbles. She cuffs the wetness away. “I’m always fucking leaking and I hate it.”

Without a word, Mulder takes Esther and walks her to her bedroom. Within a few minutes he takes Scully’s hand and leads her to their room. In the bathroom, he warms a flannel under the hot tap and wipes her face and neck. He brushes her hair, stroke after gentle stroke. He lets her use the toilet and cleans her teeth then takes her hand again and leads her to the bed. Pushing gently against her shoulders, he urges her down.

“Mulder, I’m…”

“Don’t, Scully. Just let me.”

She lay back and he tucks the covers around her. He kisses her forehead and hovers over her, smiling that comforting smile. “Sleep. And in the morning we’ll talk more.”

“Where are you going?” He’s reached the door before her brain processes that he is leaving.

“I’m letting you get the rest you need.”

She moves her arm and pats his side. “I need you here, Mulder. Right here. By my side.” He hesitates, letting the door handle go. “Please?”

The warmth of him behind her, softens her to the bone. Her breathing steadies under the protective weight of his arm. His nose presses into her hair and his knees form a seat for her behind. They fit together perfectly. She just needs to know where the baby fits.

“I love you, Scully.”

“I know.”

“And we’ll work it out. All the parts are just jumbled up for now. We’ll fit the pieces together again. I promise.”

As she drifts off she imagined the snow building up outside their house, forming a white wall around it, blanking out the rest of the world. And when it melts away, she will see the fresh green land, renewing, replenishing. Starting over.


End file.
